Breath, Body, Mouth and Memory

by Hope

Slow and steady, lazy warm, scotch and blood pulsed through Lex's veins, to the tips of his fingers to tingle when he brushed them against Clark's hair. Slipping through the waves to stroke, Lex only half-opened his eyes, watching the dark shadow of Clark's head dip, haloed in firelight and sinking from sight. Warm breath spreading on his belly, he could hear the creak of silk pulled just a little too hard. Closing his eyes again, Lex shifted, murmuring a low, soft sound when Clark mouthed a kiss against his navel. Pliant lips clinging, a brief flicker of tongue, Clark's breath gave away his intentions. He exhaled uneven whispers as he worked Lex's zipper down, the kiss just a passing glance at foreplay. Clumsy, eager fingers pressed, pulled- parting fabric to expose more flesh.

So many things Clark hadn't learned yet: that he could touch with one hand while working at buttons with another, that he wouldn't turn to stone if he looked up in the middle of a blow job... little things time would teach him, that Lex would let him lesson out on his skin. Leather groaning under his elbows; Lex pushed off the couch, just enough to make undressing easy. Clark's breath and smooth fingers on his thighs teased, then sudden heat slid over his cock. Wet and tight, Clark dulled the threatening edges of his teeth with a careful sheath of lips.

Lex tightened his fingers in Clark's hair, exhaling a slow hiss. His cock throbbed, swelling when Clark took it as deep as he could, wrapping fingers around the base to hold it in place. Resisting the urge to thrust, Lex tried to catch a glimpse of the mouth swallowing him, but all he could see was the rise and fall of Clark's head, everything obscured by the veil of his bangs. Clark's skin warmed with motion, sweetening the wood smoke air with musk, and a bitter tang of pre-cum beneath it.

Even in the hazy half-world between not quite asleep and not quite awake, Lex sensed a change. Too much motion to be dedicated to his task, Clark sank down deep, burying Lex's cock in his mouth and stilling. Lex couldn't resist a half-thrust now, rolling his hips, wanting the clasp of strawberry lips against the base of his cock. The hint worked, and Lex pressed his head back against the arm of the couch, aching when Clark sank down a little more. Each pulse telegraphed through him, washing heat over tight skin. Then the heat fled; Clark pushed himself in a lazy slide, between Lex's legs, up his chest, to find his mouth.

Heat and weight blanketing him, Lex caught Clark first, swirling deep into his mouth to taste himself there. The taste of taboo, Lex bit his lower lip, sucking it with hungry murmurs before plunging back into his mouth. Each slip of tongue, so hot, so wet, blurred the edges of awareness. The quiet library narrowed just to the couch, nothing but bodies, tongues tangling. Clasping Clark's arms, Lex pushed against him, trying to ease him from the couch to the floor, from leather to a plush silk rug where Lex could fuck him properly.

Lex's thighs framing his hips when it should have been the other way around, Clark deepened the kiss, refusing to cede. Low, buzzing murmurs caught in his throat, he splayed one hand against Lex's cheek, thumb weighting against his chin. His eyes flickered open, wide and earnest, asking please before sinking down again. He traced the scar, always fascinated by the furrow that was nothing more than a numb spot for Lex, then plunged into his mouth again.

Matching the glide of tongue, Clark's body asked the rest of the question. He drew suggestive strokes against Lex's ass, his cockhead slightly cool and sticky until it warmed with friction. He pressed, and played, nudging against the hole, his whole body trembling with tension- waiting for permission. Lex could taste his desperation, silvery-sweet, so beautiful trying to coax him into deeper kisses, into spreading his legs, but he couldn't feel his own heartbeat anymore. Just the hand on his face, fingers pulling at the edge of his mouth.


Down a long, sage hallway, Lex navigated the dark with careful steps. One bare foot on the hardwood floor, one scuffing along the runner, he could follow the edge all the way from the bedroom to his parents' without turning on the lights. Everything seemed so tall in the dark: end tables towering with vased birds of paradise, teardrop lamps hanging their heads in sleepy repose. Putting out a hand to steady himself around a corner, Lex cast a quick look back. Shadows had swallowed up the end of the hall with his bedroom door, making a home for the clawfingered monsters now.

Big boys, who slept in big boy beds without rails on the side, weren't supposed to creep around in the night. Big boys didn't have nurseries, and they didn't curl up in the jasmine-sweet curve of their mother's arms if they had bad dreams, either. Those were the rules. The monsters knew all the rules, they'd heard daddy telling Lex that he was "of an age," and "time to exhibit a little independence." Those words made the monsters laugh, sneaky like branches rasping on glass, erratic like hot water gurgling in the pipes.

Six more steps, Lex counted them backwards, then reached up. Faceted crystal bit his palm, cool and sharp like teeth, but for some reason, the door slipped open before he even turned the knob. Just a little slice, he caught a glimpse of long, red hair and pale skin, shimmering in the dark. That was a good sign. Sometimes mommy stayed up to read while daddy slept. If she saw him, she'd lift him into bed and tell him stories about Brigit and Babh and Cerridwen. Pushing the door open a little more, he played quiet hideand -seek with her, hoping she'd catch him, hoping she'd smile and hold her arms out to him.

But she didn't look at all. Instead, she closed her eyes, parting her lips when narrow fingers, daddy's fingers, brushed across them. Such a slow touch, a gentle touch that spread across her cheek, she whispered words Lex couldn't hear, but sounded like classical music. One step closer, and now the picture didn't make sense at all: mommy sitting in daddy's lap, daddy's hands stroking her hair, both of them whispering when their mouths came close to kiss.

When Lex got the big boy bed, daddy said he was too big to sit in people's laps. When he had to move all the way down the long hall to his own bedroom, daddy said he was too big for people to pet him like a china doll, and he was too big for kisses on the mouth, it was bad manners. Bad manners to whisper, too, but Lex understood now. Standing there in grey pajamas cut just like daddy's, Lex pressed his palm against his middle, trying to hold in the hard, burning knot that threatened to split his belly.

When mommy touched daddy's face the same way, Lex slammed the door shut, and ran all the way back to his room.


Clark said it out loud this time, his voice thin with the mantra please Lex, please, please, thrusting with every whimper. Strawberry lips, Clark's lips, lush and smooth, tattooing those words over and again as he strained against, a trembling Eros painted with a blush. Just by motion, the graze of fingers, he could feel Clark stroking his own cock, squeezing it hard on the downstroke to keep from coming too soon.

That made it worse, better- Lex would have paid good money to watch Clark fuck his own hand. He would have set the stage: the middle of his bed, all that wheat gold skin melting into his sheets, lights low enough to keep Clark from hesitating, bright enough so he'd be able to see. Well, he couldn't see now, but he could feel- Clark's knuckles rasping against the inside of his thighs, heat pressing hard against his hole, ready to stroke into him if he'd just say yes.

Fingers were good. Lex liked the stretch and burn of fingers pushing into him, the way they crooked inside, adding a twist to the thrust. He liked tongues, fucking loved tongues swirling against his hole, flickering, sliding in ardent strokes, thrusting inside, firm and wet, and hot. And there had been that time in Sydney with the dolphin-sleek Harrington twins and their slim chrome vibrator, but he'd been high at the time, and there had been no mistaking the pneumatic duo for anything but female.

Lex could count on one hand, one hand tangling in Clark's hair, skimming the curve of his ear again, how many times he'd actually been fucked, and he didn't need most of his fingers. The sensation too intimate, pinned beneath heat and weight, sharing breath and little more, it made his mind wander. Involuntary distraction, when he closed his eyes, he could see his father's hands on his mother's face, taste the sour bile in the back of his throat, caught between the irrational, feral jealousy of a four year old who didn't understand what he was seeing, and a littered history of rough touches his father considered acceptably-masculine affection.

Living in his father's house, in his father's shadow, warring between hating him and loving him, Lionel Luthor was the last thing Lex wanted to think about when he was fucking, so he avoided the situation entirely. Marching people across his landscape, boardroom, bedroom, that turned him on as much as anything, so it was no loss to demand surrender rather than tender it, and most of the time, it never came up. Women couldn't fuck him, and he seemed to attract gentle boys who liked to spread their legs for him, never pushing, never pleading, just pretty and willing to bend to his desires.

And they weren't Clark. Mercurial and accidentally mysterious, somebody who could lie to him and demand the truth in the same breath, someone he loved, even though common sense told him he probably shouldn't. He forgot a lot of things for Clark, he forgot a lot of things with him. Breath in his ear, uneven and shallow, Lex followed its warm tease to the source. Clark parted his lips, shivering with hunger, so easy for Lex to coax his tongue out to suck, savoring each steady pull, feeling it thrum across his skin like a pulse. Beneath Clark's body, his weight and heat sharp with the scent of near sex, Lex spread his fingers against the back of Clark's neck to hold him closer and willed away memory to murmur, "Yes."

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